Rift
by A Fool With Hot Chocolate
Summary: Sometimes Will slides through time, slipping between the cracks of centuries without realizing it until it's too late. He would be concerned, except he knows that whether he is in the present or the past he is exactly where he is meant to be at that moment. But eventually he stumbles and Bran is not so forgiving of his mistakes. (Also on AO3)
1. Chapter 1

Sometimes Will slides through time, slipping between the cracks of centuries without realizing it until it's too late. He would be concerned, except he knows that whether he is in the present or the past he is exactly where he is meant to be at that moment. The cup of tea he'd been holding in the small bookshop had been cold for an hour, but now it is warm against his fingers and he is staring at rows of jarred herbs.

"Lovely blend, isn't it? Ginger is good for the stomach, you know." The elderly woman behind the counter pours herself a cup and sips it cautiously, her eyes never leaving Will's face.

"I didn't know." Will says amiably. "It has a pleasant taste, very light." His tea at the bookshop had been black, not herbal, but as he sips from the cup he tastes the aforementioned ginger. The woman beams at him and scurries towards one end of the wall, climbing onto a ladder and spooning tea leaves into a tin. Will reaches into his pocket and feels the weight of coins there. When he'd left his flat that morning he had only brought a ten pound bill, and his coat had been wrinkled where it is now ironed smooth.

"Here you are, dear. No, no, don't pay me, you're too young to worry about such a thing. I hope the tea will help your mother." She hands him the tin, neatly tied with a ribbon, and Will reaches up to place a few coins on the counter anyway.

When he had left home that morning he had been a twenty five year old man where he is now an eleven year old boy.

"You are never too young to worry." He says solemnly. "Thank you, ma'am, and have a wonderful afternoon."

He turns to leave and finds himself staring at rows of bookshelves. His coat is wrinkled again and he is much taller, but the tin and the tea are cool in his hands. Will pockets the tin and returns the teacup to the counter of the cafe. The barista smiles at him and tosses her dark hair over her shoulder but Will only gives her a half hearted wave before leaving. For a moment the world overlays cars with carriages but when he blinks there are only taxis, no horses to be seen.

He is not running out of time because he is made of time. Time does not master him just as he does not master it. But Will knows that something is shifting. The slips come more frequently than ever before and each time he leaves with something he has physically carried over. They are not things of power, just ordinary things he has no right to be keeping. They are warnings to him. He knows that much.

Will makes his way to the nearest tube station and when the lights flicker, plunging him into momentary darkness, he suddenly understands.

He is not running out of time, but someone else might be.


	2. Chapter 2

He has not written to Bran Davies in two years and he isn't about to start again now, so when Will buys a train ticket to Wales he doesn't bother giving Bran a heads up. He knows that if Bran were to expect him, then he would find a way to weasel out of it and avoid Will for the duration of the visit. Will had never been able to assure the others that he was normal. They had always been able to sense the wrongness about him, his presence poking at the holes in their memories and causing discomfort. So he had removed himself from the lives of the Drew children and Bran Davies, figuring that it was for the best. They had sent letters, but those eventually dwindled in frequency as college and careers and marriage had occurred. Will couldn't pretend he did not feel disappointed, does not feel it still, but it had been for the best. He cannot regret the decision now.

It's not the first time he has taken the train alone but it's the first time he's felt so lonely doing it. It's an off day for travelling, in the middle of the work week and during the morning to boot, so the car is mostly empty. He could read, nap, or stare out the window, but Will finds the decision being made for him as he slips through time again.

The train isn't old enough for him to go too far back and the young man staring at him from the seat across is wearing fashion from four years prior. Will knows this because he had once owned the exact same coat, courtesy of his sister Mary.

"Sorry, I'm quite nervous." The young man says. He has an Irish accent and his fingers are restlessly drumming the armrests. The upholstery looks brand new. "Never been to Wales, despite my Da being full Welsh. Sheep fucker." He laughs but it's joyless and strained and he cuts off abruptly, staring at Will with an anxious gaze.

"It's a lovely place." Will reassures. "No matter what jokes are made about the people. They're all kind enough. Visiting relatives?"

"Yeah. Yes. Da's brother and his wife, they're taking me on for the summer. I was studying in London, the Slade, but I need summer work and they said the farm could use an extra hand. I'm hoping to paint, too, but...we'll see." Will watches the man shift in his seat. He is tense, with too much energy and nowhere to put it.

"I'm sure you'll find the time for sketching, at least." Will smiles at him and the man smiles tentatively back.

"I hope. I've done some, from pictures Da has. Here, I brought them with..." He digs through his bag, shuffling papers and pencils around. One falls to the floor and Will picks it up, waiting for the man to notice him again. After a moment he makes a triumphant sound and pulls out a folder, from which he takes a sheet of slightly battered paper. Will stares at the sketch handed to him. It's a familiar landscape, one that he knows very well.

"Cader Idris." He murmurs. He wonders who this man's father is, if perhaps he has met him, if he once lived in Tywyn.

"You know it? Here, you can have that. That mountain is beautiful, but I'd rather draw the real thing. You can keep it. As thanks."

"No, thank you." Will says with genuine gratitude, but when he looks up he finds an empty seat with faded upholstery before him. Carefully, he tucks the sketch away into his bag. At least now he has a peace offering for Bran. He spends the rest of trip in silence, gazing out the window until he dozes off.

He dreams of white plume moths, blue stones, and red fire burning so hot that he wakes up with the taste of smoke on his tongue.

There is no one to greet Will at the station but he hadn't expected anyone anyway, so he hitches a ride with a farmer who takes him a fifteen minute's walk away from the Davies residence. He thanks the farmer, presses a few bills into his hands despite the man's protests, then begins to walk. He could have gone to his relatives first, but they would have immediately alerted Bran to Will's presence and that would have delayed the whole reason that Will has come to Wales for in the first place. So instead he walks the familiar pathway to the small home where Bran and Owen Davies live, knapsack slung over his shoulder. He hadn't brought much, only a few changes of clothes and the essentials.

He isn't sure if Bran will even allow him to stay, in which case he can walk to his Aunt's home, but he knows that Owen has beaten some sort of politeness into Bran's head over the years. Will won't be left in the cold. He feels a knot of apprehension twisting in his stomach, because although Bran won't leave him outside, Bran would still be angry with him.

Will knocks on the door and receives no answer. He tries again with the same result. The sun is still up, so Will reasons that the Davies men are likely still working.

He shrugs his bag off his shoulders, places it on the ground, and sits down on the stoop to wait.


End file.
